


Quickening

by LuvEwan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Jinnobi Challenge 2019, M/M, Qui-Gon Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 05:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21221612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuvEwan/pseuds/LuvEwan
Summary: Qui-Gon visits Obi-Wan, who is on an extended mission. Obi-Wan’s mission is to grow things.





	Quickening

**Author's Note:**

> For the JinnObi Challenge.

It was hard to get away, to find an excuse, as Lamatz was far off the typically traveled space routes. 

But Qui-Gon Jinn invented a compelling enough reason to appease the Council, and finally made the long-awaited sidetrack as he returned from another mission. His heart beat in his ears for the entire journey, or it just felt so. He did not sleep, but rather imagined the upcoming reunion, staring out the viewport and seeing Obi-Wan’s face. 

Obi-Wan. 

Sometimes, when a Jedi needed to heal, mentally or physically, they were assigned a low-stress mission. The task gave them the space and time to recover, while still being of _use_. 

Obi-Wan had been staying with the Lamatz people for four months, overseeing the harvesting season and teaching basic forms of meditation. He rarely made contact with the Temple, had sent Qui-Gon a single message in those four months:

_Master Jinn, I have arrived. Thank you for all you’ve done. May the Force be with you. -Obi-Wan Kenobi._

How many nights had Qui-Gon laid awake, reciting and deciphering the brief communique? _Thank you for all you’ve done_. That was the line he could not understand. Was it meant sincerely, or as a veiled accusation? He knew he had done plenty to Obi-Wan, and very little of it was good. 

That was why Obi-Wan had asked for the extended mission, far from Coruscant. Qui-Gon had not wanted him to go, had spent the hours before his takeoff holding Obi-Wan’s hands in his own. 

_“We can figure this out together. You don’t need to run away.” _

_“I’m not running away, Qui-Gon. But what else can I do?”_

Qui-Gon had no specific answer to give Obi-Wan then, as desperately as he wanted to fix the problem and keep his former apprentice beside him. He walked Obi-Wan to the ship, brushed his lips across the warm, furrowed brow. He did not allow Obi-Wan to see his tears. 

He did not cry until days later, in fact, when the enormity of their situation hit him, like a storm which seems to settle before unleashing relentless torrents, and he spent weeks just wading through, utterly waterlogged. 

He had done this. He had forsaken the Code, and every promise he ever made to Obi-Wan. His weakness could cost Obi-Wan his Knighthood.

At the very least, it would cost him his reputation.

And that was only the surface ramifications. The rest he could not begin to examine, not until he talked to Obi-Wan, saw him and touched him. 

Told him 

_I’m sorry_

_I’m so sorry_

and hope that Obi-Wan’s generous heart was capable of such forgiveness. 

——-

Lamatz was a green, peaceful world, and one of its modest communities, on the outskirts of a town called Prog, was comprised of only a few hundred citizens. He was greeted by a throng of human children as he entered the settlement. The barefoot youth ran up to him and grabbed the edges of his cloak. 

Qui-Gon smiled down at them. “Hello there,” he said, and was rewarded with a string of tiny yellow flowers. On many worlds, they would be classified as weeds, but the little boy who shyly handed him the necklace would not have believed it.

“Well, thank you, my young friend,” Qui-Gon studied the gift with the reverence it deserved, running his fingertips along thin, velvety petals. He felt the Living Force, familiar and reassuring. But his heart would not calm itself. He caught the children’s hair out of the corner of his eye, watched the way it gleamed in the sun. 

Another wave of guilt washed over him. His chest tightened. 

As if sensing he could not bear their presence, the little ones scattered, laughing and chattering about “another newcomer”. 

Qui-Gon looked down at the delicate flowers, so small in his wide, rough palms. He had never done well nurturing small things. 

“Master Jedi,” a voice called, and he saw a tall man crest a nearby hill, smiling and waving. “We heard you were coming.”

Qui-Gon bowed, weaving his arms through his sleeves as the man approached. “Sita Gorge?”

“Ah, yes, that’s me,” Sita bowed in return. He was perhaps a few years younger than Qui-Gon, with a long braid of corn silk hair. Like the children, he was dressed simply, his feet unadorned. “I must say, we are...well, pleased and a bit befuddled. It was wondrous enough hosting one Jedi, but now a second, and a Master—“

“The pleasure is mine. Ours.” Qui-Gon said. 

Sita gestured for Qui-Gon to walk with him, back over the hill. “_Ours_. Yes, Knight Kenobi told us as much.”

Qui-Gon’s step faltered slightly. He cleared his throat. “He told you—“

“I must say, we are quite the same way around here. We are many, but we are one. Knight Kenobi says the Jedi are like a family without blood ties. I thought it was a lovely idea.”

Qui-Gon gazed out at the fields of trees. He had been thinking about family, legacies, more often during his separation from Obi-Wan. “The Jedi believe we are not united by genetics, but by the Force, Sita. It binds us all.” Even now, he could feel Obi-Wan’s presence, a growing light in his head and a warmth in his veins. 

They walked along dirt roads, past quaint houses and more children, some accompanied by mothers who lifted curious eyes to follow Sita and the cloaked stranger. 

“Knight Kenobi has been a boon to us, Master Jinn. The harvest is the best in years. Maybe it is, like you said, your Force.” Sita waved to neighbors as they walked, “But I think it is Kenobi too. He was tireless in helping with the work. And so good with the children.”

Qui-Gon realized he was still carrying the string of flowers. He tucked them into a pocket of his robe. “I’m happy to hear it, Sita.”

“Yes, but I’m guessing you are here to take him away from us. Ah, who could blame you?” Sita chuckled softly, leading them around a curve in the road and down to a garden. “He is here somewhere, I’m sure. With the harvest complete, he’s been assisting with the planting.”

Of course, Qui-Gon knew Obi-Wan was in the garden. His presence transcended even the bright flowers and thick grasses, and Qui-Gon thanked Sita before walking a little further down the stone-lined path, finding a bowed head of red-gold hair, fairly glowing in the midday sun. 

Obi-Wan was on his knees, carefully packing seeds in the dirt. 

Qui-Gon watched his long, graceful fingers, and found he could hardly swallow. 

“It’s only tubers,” Obi-Wan said, without looking up. “The children like them mashed, for dinner. I remember hating anything mashed when I was a child. I would still eat what was on my plate, rather than suffer the wrath of the crèche master, but I hated every bite.”

Qui-Gon glanced behind him. Seeing only an expanse of trees and squares of dirt, he lowered himself to his knees beside Obi-Wan. Immediately, he felt everything soften inside him, a sensation of melting, of helplessness. 

Obi-Wan paused. He remained very still, one hand half-buried in the wet soil. “I wondered if you’d come.” 

Qui-Gon heard the quiver in Obi-Wan’s voice. He reached over and rested his palm against the swell of belly, hidden beneath tunics and robe. The Force rose up to meet his touch. 

And he felt shifting pressure against his fingers. There and gone.

“It’s like that all the time, now.” Obi-Wan explained, arranging the seeds and covering them with a pat of dirt. “I’m lucky I get the sleep that I do.”

Qui-Gon started to pull his hand away, overcome by a surge of guilt, but Obi-Wan held it against his stomach. He looked into the gray eyes he had not seen for four months. “Obi-Wan, I…”

“How have you slept?” Obi-Wan interrupted. The freckles on his face were darker. 

Qui-Gon started as a hard shape pushed into his palm. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, and Qui-Gon sensed him breathing through the discomfort. “I should...blast it...I should go inside.” He managed, jaw clenched. 

Qui-Gon felt awkward, not sure quite what to do, how his offer of help would be taken. “Do you—“

“I suppose I didn’t consider how I would get up when I got down here,” Obi-Wan said, and the twinkle of humor eased the dread in Qui-Gon’s heart, reminded him of the man Obi-Wan had been...before all of this. 

Qui-Gon stood and took Obi-Wan by the elbows, pulling him to his feet. Obi-Wan was barefoot, like the others, his pale toes sinking into the grass. 

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said softly, dusting the errant dirt from his clothes. Sweat glistened on his temples. 

Qui-Gon stepped back, and saw the subtle curve of Obi-Wan’s midsection, smaller than he imagined it would be. 

Obi-Wan wore an indecipherable expression, squinting slightly against the glare of the sun. His hair had grown out, curled slightly at the ends, nearly touching the nape of his neck. “It’s a bit strange to look at, isn’t it?” 

“No,” Qui-Gon whispered. 

“You’re lying,” Obi-Wan said, and started walking towards the little house just beyond the garden. 

From the back, he looked the same, a slender figure in a brown cloak. Qui-Gon followed him.

——


End file.
